


One

by wanderingsmith



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:24:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I know we had not just met, that I had even laid hands on you before.   But it was only then that I knew you.   That the Pull I had never recognized, in all the years since you had been born, suddenly tightened; and I knew you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.
> 
> am I really the only one who read so much more into that look "Not our only hope."?

Thorin breathed deep of the crisp night air, eyes closed and letting his nearby company's laughter and mutters roll over him. Letting his mind focus inside himself instead. They had made it. Their hobbit had once again surpassed all expectations and burgled them out from under the high noses of elves. Thorin did not try to hold back a fond grin, content that the few feet between himself and the fire would keep anyone from seeing and commenting. 

As much as he'd disliked the idea of fitting himself into a barrel just as much as the rest of the company had, Bilbo had been both correct and visibly exhausted; siding with him had felt.. so right. Comforting. He rolled his eyes at himself; he was an old fool to let such a small thing give such pleasure.

But then, it was to be expected, even of old warriors: Glóin was proof enough of that.

He opened his eyes to scan the campsite, giving Orcrist's hilt a distracted stroke, more reluctant than ever to agree that elves had made such a fine weapon, but unable to deny how glad he'd been to find it along with his armour waiting for him in a barrel. Food to eat for a night or two and weapons to continue their journey. Not a burglar, indeed. 

Speaking of Bilbo. Thorin rose, walking over to the small shape amongst the dwarrows across the fire. A gentle grip on a small shoulder had the hobbit's wide smile tilt up to him, well-earned pride and peace in the bright eyes. Unwilling to stop himself from responding, the king returned a smile of his own before nodding his head to a tree several feet behind them.

Perhaps he should have removed his hand to let Bilbo stand, but after so long without any touch, his self-control was not up to letting go until he reached the tree and took Bilbo's hand instead as he lowered his still-damp self against the too-cold trunk, glad to see over Bilbo's lowering shoulders that the rest of the company had hardly glanced at their move. They were still too near the elves and Mirkwood for it to be safe for anyone to move too far from the others; this was as close to privacy as he could afford to give them.

For a moment he hesitated; he could not help wishing to do this in a better time and place.

"Thorin? Is something the matter?"

The way that quiet voice wrapped around him dissolved every second thought he'd had, however. It was time.

He took a last moment to take the small hand he still held in both of his, reviewing the words he'd planned, a lifetime of practise at giving rousing speeches just as useful in this most important of conversations.

He made sure his expression was not frozen in his too-habitual frown as he looked up and started quietly, "Do you recall something.. happening, or perhaps simply changing, 51 years ago?"

The small smile that had softened Bilbo's features looking at their hands flicked into confusion at his admittedly odd question. "Exactly 51 years ago? Well.." Thorin kept quiet as moments passed without further words, focusing on the peace within himself, not even certain there existed an answer to this question. "I think.. Yes. Yes, my father did tell the story of uncle Gerhart almost starting a 'war' with Buckland by insisting on a plan to build a dam across the Brandywine," Bilbo rolled his eyes, "Old fool supposedly thought he could make a fortune by building some ridiculously large mill and selling to the Big Folk." Thorin grunted in agreement at the foolishness, thinking of the small farmland available to make the needed wheat, and even smaller settlements of Men available to sell to.

"Oh, and.. well, depending where you count your year beginning, mother insisted that the Thain and a couple of my Took uncles killed some goblins up near the Far Downs-"

As much as it was pleasant to sit and listen to the hobbit's amiable chatter, Thorin did not want to lose the thread of the conversation; this was not quite what he needed. "Do you not yourself remember?"

He blinked at Bilbo's quick laugh, "What is *your* earliest memory, my dwarf friend?"

Frowning in confusion, Thorin nonetheless took the question seriously and sent his mind back, finally deciding on the most likely truth, "Watching my 'amad hammering the first strokes of a brooch."

Bilbo's eyes brightened with interest, though his question did not insist on delving further, as Thorin more than half expected he would, "How old were you?"

"Perhaps.. 10?"

He again got that quick laugh as a response, "Well, my earliest memory dates from when I was 3, being lost in some woods and crying out for help. So I'm afraid if you want to know of the year 2890, I only have others' words to offer."

He frowned, eyes tracing every inch of that familiar, full of character but entirely beardless face, a strange thought beginning to niggle at him, "..How.. old.. are you, Bilbo?"

The curious humour he'd been watching slipped into a surprised blink, "Fif- well, actually, fifty-*one* now," Thorin guessed that slightly tilted grin meant the hobbit had not noticed the change during their travel, "I know you dislike all elves, Thorin, but I must say I would rather have spent my birthday in Elrond's house than Thranduil's."

Even through his shock, the words surprised a small, hurt laugh from Thorin and he squeezed the hand in his, "I am not such a prideful fool as to not see the sense in that, Bilbo." He swallowed hard, "You are 51??"

It didn't take Bilbo's worried frown to know his shock was plain to see, though he did let himself take reassurance from the return hand-squeeze as Bilbo wriggled closer, "Yes, 51. Why? How old are you?"

Thorin laughed again, shaking his head, "I was unimaginably young for a dwarf when I joined the march on Moria at 53. I am 195. *Kíli*.. is 77."

At least seeing Bilbo's jaw drop told him he wasn't alone now, "Oh. Oh well..." Thorin's eyes dropped as Bilbo's other hand came to rest on his, fingers slotted along his combat-scarred knuckles. It was *not* a child's. But it was small. And the wounds it carried were recent rather than two centuries' worth. And yet.. Thorin allowed the hand he'd held to shift until it was one of his that was held and stroked reassuringly by two smaller hobbit hands. He could not forsake the rest of this conversation, no matter the twists in the path, he needed to know its destination now. 

So he allowed himself to be petted, and listened to Bilbo's explanations, "Well, unlike Kíli, hobbits are responsible, and generally *respectable*," Thorin did his best to smirk obediently at the jibe and glance teasingly sent his way from under lowered brows, "Adults by their 33rd birthday. And at 51, I am middle-aged," Bilbo voice dropped to a self-deprecating mutter as his eyes went to their joined hands, drawing his own gaze to the strange sight of someone comforting him, "When a respectable hobbit should be married, most likely with a hobbitling or 2 already underfoot." When Bilbo went quiet, Thorin looked up, caught by the firm gaze that seemed to have been waiting for him, "The longest-lived hobbit was the Old Took, who lived to 130."

Thorin let himself absorb the information in silence, once again reshaping his mental picture of a hobbit. His tutors had taught him better than to judge others by dwarven lives; he'd always accepted that the age of Men and Elves must be read differently. Perhaps it was simply that Bilbo was closer in body to dwarrows than to the other races that had led him awry. But the result was no terrible thing, and on accepting that, he slowly released a too-tightly held breath and nodded, peace restored. "Fair enough."

Bilbo hummed agreement, visibly relaxing as well, though he never loosed Thorin's hand, "So why did you wish to know of Shire events so long ago?"

Thorin took a moment to get back to their conversation, pleased to realize that not only had he gotten a surprisingly logical answer to his original line of enquiry, but Bilbo had provided him with an introduction for the next one. "..You say you should be married. How do hobbits choose their mates?"

Seeing Bilbo frown and stare at him with intent curiosity, he silently acknowledged again that his mother had been right: he would never be a diplomat. That had not been near subtle enough a shift in topic, now had it?

"Well. When they- *we*, we of course. We meet, th- we feel.. Drawn. The way water will flow down even a shallow incline, or the smell of baking bread will draw you even with a full belly."

After the surprise of their different ages, Thorin couldn't help a glad smile at knowing that here, at least, they understood each other. "Not all dwarrows bond. Some feel the pull of their craft the most, and have no interest in any other intimacy. But others, usually near their first century, begin to feel a Pull, the knowledge that their One is somewhere. It is without.. direction. But they say that when, or if, you meet him or her, you will know them." His jaw clenched for a moment and he dropped his eyes to their interlocked hands, reminding himself that he need only reach within himself for peace, "That is what they say. In any case, most dwarrows will go about their lives with that thread, confident that if Mahal wills it, they will one day walk a corridor of their mountain, or be introduced to a newcomer, and they will recognize their One." Bilbo's momentary clench on his hand made him pause to listen, patience he rarely could find nonetheless coming to him with Bilbo.

"And you? If you're 195 and.. well, unless you ha-" Thorin shook his head abruptly, hurrying to cut off such a thought, "Oh. Oh, well, goo- well. So you love your craft..."

Thorin shook his head again, less abruptly, knowing he could not leave the true question unanswered. "No. Being a blacksmith may be a skill I have mastered, but I do not feel pulled to it above all else. Caring for my people was closer to a purpose for my days. I had long accepted I would not have anything else." The flow of words was starting to feel thicker on his tongue; Mahal he hadn't felt nerves like this since he waited for his first skirmish. 

He swallowed, pushing forward, "51 years ago, I.. suddenly felt the need to wander. Remaining at Ered Luin caring for our people and my nephews.." He had to stop and force himself to calm, his hands to relax their grip at the memory of suddenly feeling lost among even the remnants of his people.

He gave Bilbo a small smile, aware as he did of hands stroking his again, "Until that day, believe it or not, I could find my way fairly well, even outside a dwarven mountain. But from then.. I would stare at a path and strain to recognize the way. I *know* the sun rises in the East and can tell the passage of time.. but my feet seemed to refuse the knowledge, and I would discover I had wandered without noticing from my plans. The more I would strain to focus on my steps, the further my mind would scatter."

Shrugging off the old frustration, he straightened and looked Bilbo right in the eye, giving his words the weight the other deserved to see in them, "Until I held you." He waited a beat as Bilbo's body jerked, eyes widening with not-yet-recognizable emotion, "With nothing on my mind but awe at your courage, and gratitude for your showing it for me." The smaller hands holding one of his had shifted and tightened into an actual grip around his wrist, and Thorin thought the eyes might be shining with hope, now, perhaps even joy, "I know we had not just met, that I had even laid hands on you before. But it was only then that I Knew you. That the Pull I had never recognized, in all the years since you had been born, suddenly tightened; and I Knew you." Strongest braid of power from deep in his soul and reaching for the beardless, short-haired, peaceful-souled hobbit sitting in front of him. A tight and flexible ribbon of joy in the dark forest of memories he'd lived with for so long, "Since that moment, I have known if you were near or far." Known you were alive.

 

Bilbo had never felt so breathless, the joyful shock echoing through him repeatedly, unable to look away from eyes even clearer and brighter than the day they'd shared their first view of the Lonely Mountain. That look was for *him*. Thorin loved him. And.. 'felt' his presence.. Giving a small laugh, Bilbo's fizzing thoughts landed on a memory now explained, "You... You knew, knew I was next to your cell. When the elves brought you down. You knew I was not still somewhere in the forest." Or dead.

Thorin blinked, obviously taking a few moments to shift his thoughts back to that moment, "Yes. And I knew you were free, or else, to be that close to me, we would have heard you in another cell." Bilbo could see the remembered fear and relief in his friend's eyes and held his breath as the dwarf leaned forward and pressed his lips to Bilbo's forehead, "And I did not need the Pull to know you would never abandon us once you had found us."

"No. No I wouldn't." Bilbo knew he should try to control himself, half-aware that their nosey company was within hearing, but his usually majestic friend didn't seem to mind that the hobbit's smile flickered in and out, or that he was staring as could never be polite. Well, except with one's mate. Oh. Oh yes, please. To be allowed-

"How do hobbits court?"

Bilbo gasped, "Court?" Oh dear, that had been a squeak. Though Thorin's easy smile didn't change for all that.

"Dwarrows are simple in this. I was actually present when Dis met her One. They both froze, and then they smiled," Bilbo almost giggled as Thorin shook his head with obvious fondness, "Never before had I seen my sister smile so openly joyful. With evil teasing intent, with pleasure, yes, but..." the king laughed softly at the memory, "Víli was in the same state, so I and Balin both stepped back and left. They Knew each other and both chose to accept the Pull. From that moment they would be making life decisions together, and that was all. If your One does not acknowledge you, it is generally accepted that you may question it, question them; but it serves little purpose beyond ensuring that they are not simply too ill or drunk to feel the Pull. No amount of courting, as I have seen done in the lands of Men, would have any effect on a dwarf's decision not to bond. And once the decision is made.. most dwarrows do not have the interest in further discussing a moot point." Bilbo could read the teasing in the quirk of a brow that followed, "I assume hobbits have more elaborate customs?"

Before he tried to answer that, Bilbo decided they were going to be here for some time. Rather than separate their hands, he tightened his grip and used Thorin's automatically stiffened arms as a fulcrum to shift himself to his knees and shuffle closer in between the dwarf's armoured knees, and settle, damn any curious watchers, arms able to relax and body warming from Thorin's nearness. There. Much better for a long discussion on customs. The only thing missing was some Old Toby; but never mind that.

He shifted his grip on Thorin's hand, more to enjoy the contact than to change the hold, "Courting. Well yes. The Draw can be felt at any time. And of course, between anyone less than, oh.. their mid-20s, nothing but the lightest of friendliness will be permitted by any adult in the community, no matter how strong that water may flow. But for responsible adults, well, hobbits do enjoy the simple pleasures." He grinned when he felt the squeeze on his wrist at that. Yes, thank you, I like the pleasures of home, dear, best you get used to the idea. "And there is no rush in Shire life. Married folk have often told me that living together with someone isn't easy. That you don't always agree on even the simplest things, and not all couples share the interests that matter to them, which cannot be easy. So it is generally expected that when you are drawn to someone, you will take time to become friends. With the only difference that you will most likely lay in bed at night and think how you will work your life around the things your friend likes."

Bilbo looked down, his bittersweet memories of an evening of shocking guests no doubt clear to be seen, "And, of course, like dwarrows, being Drawn is no guarantee that the other is also Drawn. Or that they wish to marry, though I think fewer hobbits would *choose* to be alone than you ascribe to dwarrows. But.. if they cannot accept the sacrifices that might be necessary to share a household with their friend.. better that be realized before they wed."

In the suddenly heavy stillness, Bilbo was aware that he could hear nothing but snores coming from behind him, but that Dori at guard would therefore have no distraction to avoid seeing how deeply in conversation they were. But lack of privacy was one of the things he'd accepted.

"So they become friends?"

Bilbo shook off the melancholy, looking up to meet understanding eyes, a soft smile feeling more familiar on his lips anyway, "Yes. Spend time together. Speak of their family and experiences. Of dreams and desires for the future. Of where they have thought to live. Children. They show and share with each other the results of their skills."

Thorin nodded, humming approval, and they were both quiet for a time, until one of those thoughts made Bilbo hunch down, though he made sure to keep his eyes up, "I..." he cleared his tight throat, "Wouldn't there be objections?"

One of Thorin's brows rose in confusion, "Objections?"

Bilbo gave him a tight look, "Of the king.. choosing, a hobbit? A male one at that."

The incredulous look he got was a little too reminiscent of their early interaction for his tastes, though at least the tone wasn't. "A dwarf's One is no one's concern but their own."

"But you are the king. Would my insulting someone out of ignorance not reflect badly on you?" Because they both knew the hobbit would. He still got enough shocked looks from the company, who all should know him better...

"Reflect? No. I am king. Nothing you do would.. reflect, on that." Thorin frowned, looking surprising calm and truthful instead of the haughty arrogance Bilbo would expect to accompany such words, "A dwarf king's consort is not by extension the queen," the smirk he flashed made Bilbo want to kiss it into submission, though he quashed the though to a mere glare, "Or a king. A dwarf does not become something else because of who their mate is. My grandfather was the king. His consort was a goldsmith. Grandmother had no interest in statecraft, and grandfather had none in crafting jewellery. The fact that grandmother would retire to the royal apartments after working in her shop made no difference to how she was treated while working. She would occasionally have to deck herself out in the royal finery and preside over banquets with grandfather, and he would occasionally have to take off the royal finery to accompany her to guild meetings at other settlements, but those neither affected his state decisions nor her standing in the crafts."

When Thorin tugged on his hand, Bilbo released him, faintly reluctant but unwilling to deny the silent request, especially when it led to his own hand raised up to that bearded face. "You would always be free to be anything you chose, be it the royal burglar, cook or scribe." The words were reassuring in themselves; the touch of chilled lips and on his palm even more so. But feeling a teasing smile form there was what made his heart catch, "I am not certain if a garden to your satisfaction could be made on the mountain, but dwarrows are ingenious, we would try to give you everything to bring you pleasure."

With a soft laugh of sheer relief for everything this night had brought, Bilbo used Thorin's grip to lever himself up, bringing his other hand to the king's shoulder and, still grinning, knocked his forehead to his suitor's, which he was sure this conversation made this taciturn dwarf. 

Then he tilted his head, slotting their noses and held the position with their lips still a good inch apart, eyes locked to surprised blue ones, wondering if this was something dwarrows did.. or at least that this dwarf would be willing to do.

His few adventures in kissing had never extended to locking lips with a grin before, but as he found himself sliding hands into travel-gnarled long hair that was just as foreign, the lips teasingly touching his were tightly stretched to match the chuckle shaking the body he clung to. 

Not that his own laughter was helping satisfy anyone's hunger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'amad : mother


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Being Drawn to someone does not mean knowing that person, or what a suitable token would be. But I could not chase after you without at least some hope, so I hedged my bets as best I could."

When he woke, before dawn had broken or other dwarves stirred, the first thing Thorin saw was his hobbit, sitting a short foot away from his left thigh, smiling face tilted to the still-dark sky. 

"Bilbo?" he cleared his throat of the morning gravel as Bilbo looked down at him, still smiling, "Did you not sleep?"

"No." Bilbo didn't bother to explain the custom; instead he shifted to shake out his legs a bit and then re-settled, both his closed hands back on his thighs, facing Thorin as the dwarf sat up. Aware that the others would be waking soon, he didn't allow himself the luxury of simply staring at his intended, who was allowing Bilbo to see him peacefully sleep-muddled rather than pasting on his usual mask. Instead, he took a slow breath and started. "When hobbits ask someone to marry them, they give a token." 

Ignoring the sharp air intake he heard, he opened one of his fists, exposing an inch-wide, scroll-worked locket, "This was my Took grandmother's. Mother used to tell me that she could fairly *smell* the adventures her mother had had on it," he held it up between them, not showing how pleased he was at Thorin's almost awed expression as he looked at what had to be, in the end, a simple trinket, by dwarf standards. "She said it came from Outside, and although I believed it then, I believe it almost more now. The work..."

"It is from the Iron hills," Thorin's hand reached but did not touch, "By a master silversmith. That too-fine scroll-work makes it an expensive piece if it was bought. I would suspect a gift," he smiled at Bilbo, "Which I would expect means its price was higher for someone than any coin could hope to match."

Bilbo smiled back, sparing a moment to wish his mother could have heard that. Could know Thorin.

He shook off the thought; no sadness here. Bringing the locket back to his lap, he opened his other hand to expose a pocket watch. He looked up, trying to keep his expression as neutral as it had been, "This was my father's. He never wound it; he always said that 'a proper hobbit always knows where he should be' and certainly didn't require some timepiece like those always-late Big Folk. You should never need the help of foreign magics to keep track of the important things in life." 

Bilbo grinned, "He would no more leave the house without a handkerchief than he would be late for elevensies with his father-in-law the Thain." He stroked the hobbit-sized watch that sat in his palm, warm and comfortable, the edges worn from years of such handling at his father's hands, "It isn't solid gold; not gold at all, actually. Bungo Baggins didn't approve of ostentation. But he was a well-to-do hobbit and as such had certain expectations of appearance to meet." Bilbo shrugged, "A brass watch that was never used but carried status because of our contact with Big Folk."

He took a careful deep breath and looked up, "Being Drawn to someone does not mean knowing that person, or what a suitable token would be. But I could not chase after you without at least some hope, so I hedged my bets as best I could."

 

Thorin's breath stuttered, realizing that in all the last evening.. Bilbo had never actually *said*... smiles, bright eyes and a kiss were not the same, and his voice could not hide the husk of joy warming him, "And now?"

"It would honour my grandmother for her locket to be so right at home on my husband's chest; and my family's treasures are yours," Bilbo tilted a grin at him, well-deserved confidence implied in the words, but his eyes watched Thorin, a question waiting patiently, "Should you accept me." 

With the grin fading to seriousness, and before Thorin could reply, the hobbit reached out slowly with a closed hand, nodding approval when Thorin's own hand opened to meet it, his voice taking on a formal tone that spoke of traditional words, making Thorin's pulse pick up with anticipation. "If it would please you, I wish to spend my life at your side, Thorin Oakenshield. For my life to always be twined with yours, wherever the rope might take us." He opened his hand to drop its warm gift into Thorin's palm, "You have already shown many times over that you accept me as I am, as I hope I have done of you," Thorin closed his hand possessively on the watch, feeling fierce joy listening to Bilbo's breath catch, knowing his feelings were matched. Returning his mate's suddenly shaky grin with one he could feel stretching across his face. "I love you, my king of dwarves."

Lips twisting at the loving tease invested in the title, Thorin bowed his head slowly, needing to convey all that he had not the words for right then. Wanting to complete his acceptance properly, he thought quickly, then tied the watch to a rivet hole left empty in his brigantine's collar from a lost plate, securing the body tight to not get caught or move, even during battle. Securing its place in his life.

Content with the result, he met Bilbo's very pleased smile with his own, still without words, half-aware that Nori was unabashedly staring at them from the other end of camp; and that he could hear others stirring. 

"And how do dwarves show they are promised?"

Thorin winced at the question he's known would come, hand fisting in frustration before he met his One's gaze apologetically, "By wearing a specific braid," his lips twisted with self-mockery, "With a bead made by the one you have promised yourself to. And as I was not as self-aware as you, âzyungâl, I did not make a bead when I could have. And now have no means to do so."

Nodding without surprise and running a hand absently through his, maybe luckily, much longer than they used to be curls, Bilbo muttered with slight concern, "I rather though a braid would come into it." 

He hesitated, weighing Thorin's pride against his love of custom, "I remember seeing beads made of wood..." When the silence and unhappy frown lasted too long, he rose to his knees and moved forward, calmly settling with his forehead to Thorin's, "*We* will know what it means. That your hand made it, that I am yours and you accept me, *Oaken*shield." He touched the watch jury-rigged to an old warrior's worn armour, "Just as only you and I know what this means."

Thorin reached up and put his hand on top of Bilbo's, pressing the token to his shoulder. Aware of whispers coming from the camp at their intimate position. No dwarf would hide his One, though Thorin might have preferred to have waited until their braids were in place to announce this to his noisy, outspoken, teasing company. But he would not push away his âzyungâl for pride.

He met Bilbo's understanding eyes, thinking of the compromises the hobbit had reminded them both that they would have to make. His dwarven heart might wish for metal and gems to be used for most things, but the branch that gave him his name had shielded him from many blows over the years, for all that it was mere wood. If it meant he could lay claim to his One sooner rather than later, especially a later that might not come before the Halls of Mandos, well, his hobbit's fondness for growing things made a wooden bead undeniably appropriate.

Unable not to smile at the quick-witted mate Mahal had made him for, he slowly nodded his head up and down to stroke his nose along his One's, then pulled back to reluctantly stand, tugging Bilbo up with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> âzyungâl: lover


End file.
